


framed in twilight

by sansapotter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 03:38:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6687691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansapotter/pseuds/sansapotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa accidentally sends a naughty/flirty text to the wrong number. Things escalate quickly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	framed in twilight

**Author's Note:**

> so blackholeofprocrastination and I prompted sort of the same thing on valar_morekinks round 2, and that was for a sexting fic. As it happened I was inspired by her prompt and proceeded to write this sort of filth :)

“No, it didn’t work,” Sansa hissed into the phone, peering into the hallway for eavesdroppers. “I think it only made things worse.” She pulled the cord of her robe tight on her waist after she pulled the door closed, and began to pace around her childhood bedroom.

 

“It didn’t do anything?” Randa asked in disbelief, Sansa could hear her friend set a glass down.

 

“No, it didn’t make him want me at all. He’s acting awkward, and now he thinks I have a boyfriend,” she fell back dramatically against the eyelet duvet. 

 

“He’s jealous,” Randa said pointedly, Sansa could almost feel her knowing stare through the phone.

 

“No, not jealous, just I don’t know, different. He acts like he’s seen me naked, the me he’s always known.” His best friend’s younger sister, not a young, available, interested, woman. Randa and Mya helped her stage everything; they shopped for new underthings with her, swiped through all the pictures, chose the most flattering filter, Randa even gave her tips for just the right angle. All she had to do was send it, then pretend it was to the wrong person. Anyone else would have sent her something back, but save for the text that read **Consider it forgotten**. It was radio silence from him.

 

“You don’t know that,” 

 

“It’s pretty obvious. He’s sleeping in the adjoining room, that’s how little attraction there is. Nobody in this house thought on that at all.” She sighed, “if he was even a little interested don’t you think he would have tried to talk to me?”

 

“So what do you want to do?” Randa asked, “you’ve logged a lot of hours into this.”

 

“It might be time to give up,” Sansa sighed, “end the Jon Snow chapter once and for all.” There was a sneeze from the bathroom, one that had her sitting up quickly. Whatever Randa was saying she couldn’t hear it for how quickly her heart started to beat. “I have to go,” she said abruptly, sitting up and pulling her robe around herself protectively. 

 

At the door she froze, what if he hadn’t heard anything? If he had what did it matter? Her hand fell from the knob, and she backed away. Her paranoia was only sparked because she was talking about him, Jon was likely just getting ready for bed. She didn’t hear the sink run, but she probably wasn’t listening for it. She should just leave well enough alone, mind her business, and when she got home let Mya set her up with one of her half brothers.

 

The knock didn’t come until later, much later when her bedside lamp was the only dim glow, and she scrolled through her phone. It was a quiet knock, like she might not have been meant to hear it. She tugged the blankets up to her chest, before calling “come in.”

 

There was a moment of hesitation before Jon opened the door. He swapped out his contacts for glasses, perched low on his nose. His greeting was whispered, like anyone could be listening. “It’s late Jon.”

 

“Sorry, I was going to come earlier, but you were on the phone.” Her heart quickened, so he was listening at the door. “I just wanted to see how you were; we haven’t talked in a while,” he ran a hand through his hair. Her face must have shown her disbelief. “How’s… how’s Harry?”

 

“Why haven’t you said anything about it?” Sansa wasn’t going to admit to the lie when he very obviously heard everything at her door not hours before. 

 

“About what?” The deliberate way Jon moved around her room, pointedly avoiding her eye, furthered her embarrassment, and anger. 

 

“You know!” She said emphatically, lowering her voice, “the picture.”

 

“You asked me to delete it so I did.” Jon shrugged, leaning against the white desk chair. She scoffed, that was a line of something. “I’ll go and get my phone if you don’t believe me,” he offered. “I never thought it was for me, if I knew…”

 

“You don’t need to lie to me,” She hissed cutting him off, pulling her legs up to her chest. “I didn’t bring it up so you could placate me like a child.”

 

“I definitely don’t think you’re a child,” Jon said with a halfhearted laugh, more to himself than to her. 

 

“So why are you here then?” Sansa frowned, dropping her arms to prop her up. Jon looked confused at that, his eyes dropped again. “Seriously, you didn’t come in here under cover of night just to chat.”

 

“No, I guess not.” He stood up and slid the desk chair back into place. “Just- if I had known it was meant for me, the picture, I would have said something better.”

 

“Oh?” 

 

“If you’re not committed to ‘ending the Jon Snow chapter’, I could prove it. No games.” He stayed across the room, but his words sparked in her. 

 

“How do I know you aren’t just saying that cause you feel bad?” Her suspicion was still high.

 

“You don’t,” he shrugged, “but I’m not.” He walked to the door that would soon stand between them once more, “maybe just expect it when you least expect it Sansa.” She smiled softly, “good night.”

 

“Good night Jon.” She called back, waiting until the door clicked shut to reach over and unlocked her phone. 

 

_I take it back,_  

_you might be right._

_Jon Snow might still be a go_

 

Easter came and went. Jon never tried to sneak back into her room; it was almost like their conversation never happened. There hadn’t been such radio silence from him since before Christmas. She wouldn’t be the one to break the silence. Absolutely not. The ball was in his court, and he would either play it or he wouldn’t. It was weeks before her phone went off, it startled her.

 

**I can’t stop thinking about you**

 

It wasn’t anything dirty, it was hardly seven o’clock in the evening, too early for anything truly filthy; this was a message that tested the waters, gauged her interest. She tried to type out a message, deleting it quickly, and tried another three times before settling on:

 

_what have you been thinking about?_

 

It was coy enough to convey her intent, but not telling enough to make her seem too eager. The ellipsis popped up, wracking her nerves. She managed a text to Mya and Randa, putting them on high alert. They were the reason her interest in Jon was piqued. Randa heard gossip from all sorts of vague third cousin, friend of a friend’s. It was like she heard it through the woodwork that Jon knew how to turn a lady out. Mya took one look at Jon during Christmas dinner and gave Sansa an approving look. “If you aren’t going to go after him I will,”  

 

**what I would have said if I knew you wanted me to see those pictures**

 

She fell back against her bed. Randa wasn’t lying when she said Sansa logged a lot of hours into Jon Snow. The last four months she took to hanging out with him, in groups, never alone. There were moments when she thought he might be interested, and then as quick as she could consider it he was distant as could be. The pictures were a last resort, the scheming wasn’t her best idea but what more could she do if he wasn’t responding like a normal person?

 

_have you figured out what you would have said?_

 

**things that would probably turn you as red as your hair…**

 

_now I’m intrigued_

 

Her phone started to vibrate in her hand. **_Jon calling_**. She declined it, sending a custom message just to let him know her intent, texting was the name of the game; she didn’t trust herself to speak steadily and flirtatiously quite yet. Then, because he hadn’t pressed, and played along, she tugged the top of her blouse aside and snapped a quick picture of the pretty pink and turquoise material that lay beneath. No skin, no face, just the fabric:

 

_for inspiration_

 

His response didn’t come instantly. It gave her time to switch her ceiling light for the dim glow of the end table light. She stripped down to her silky soft underthings, slipping a short robe over herself. From above the covers against the fluffed pillows of her bed she waited, and wasn’t disappointed when he replied.

 

**if I were there I would peel that aside, see if the skin of your tits is as soft as I think it is**

 

_might be softer_

_your beard is probably rough_

 

She closed her eyes imaging just that. Her breasts were sensitive, even under the gentle, teasing traces of her fingers her nipples started to stiffen. She knew she was wet, just from a little cheeky texting. Still holding her phone in one hand, the other strayed from her breast down, rubbing at her clit through her panties. 

 

**are you touching yourself?**

 

_yeah_

 

**what are you thinking about?**

 

_you_

_your mouth on my breasts, your fingers inside me_

 

**I wouldn’t be able to keep myself from tasting you**

 

_tasting me?_

 

**yeah, once I got my mouth on your cunt I might not ever leave**

 

_you don’t even know what it looks like_

 

**Christ Sansa**

**you have no idea what you’re doing to me**

 

_show me_

 

**serious?**

 

_it’s only fair_

 

She thought he was going to back out, when her phone went from dim to bright she was proven wrong. Sansa dated guys who sent her dick pics, sometimes guys sent her snaps with boldly brandished cocks that were meant to impress her. Jon’s was the prettiest one she’d ever seen, pink and full. It was easy to imagine the way it would feel inside her.

 

_it’s so nice_

 

**thanks?**

 

Her phone started to go off again, **_Jon calling_**.

 

_why did you want to call?_

 

**because I want to hear you when you come**

 

This time when her phone shook in her hand she answered it, voice embarrassingly throaty. Jon’s voice mirrored her own, husky and deep.

 

“What are you doing now?”

 

“Using my fingers,” she shimmied her underwear down her legs, “thinking of your cock inside me.” She could hear the thud of his head hitting the wall. “God, Jon it would be so good,” she heard her voice pitch up. Her fingers felt better on bare skin, and she was sure she would come quicker than she ever had before. “Tell me what you’re doing,”

 

“I’m trying not to come too fast,” he laughed, she her laugh was a little breathy to be considered true but she understood his torment. “I can’t stop thinking of your mouth,” he said, and she frowned a little at that, a little surprised that he was just thinking of getting a blow job. “How soft your lips would be, your breath on my neck.”

 

“On your neck?”

 

“While you’re riding me,” it would have been so matter-of-fact if his breathing wasn’t so labored. The image was so potent that she gasped to think of it. Jon choked out a breath, and she knew he finished, and the low coiling in her belly tightened to know that was her doing. The line was silent save for their breathing, Sansa palmed at her hair in an attempt to smooth out the bedhead she’d developed.

 

“God Jon,” she finally said when her breathing evened out. 

 

“I told you I would do better.”

 

“You didn’t disappoint, I’m still clutching my pearls.” She laughed, “that was…”

 

“Yeah, it was.” He agreed. “We should do it again.”

 

“I wouldn’t object to that,” she tried not to be let down, she instigated phone sex; she wasn’t allowed to be upset that he didn’t ask for more, and like he could hear her thoughts he said:

 

“I’d like to be able to kiss you after though,” 

 

“I’d like that too,” she scooted up to lean against her headboard. “Maybe after a drink?”

 

“A drink, a movie, dinner, anything. I want to do this right.”

 

“Well we’re off to a good start,” she teased, smiling when she heard him laugh. “Really though, a date would be nice. Is this weekend too soon?”

 

“I was thinking tomorrow,” he sounded earnest. “I don't really want to wait too long before I see you.”

 

“Afraid you might forget me Jon?”

 

“That would be impossible.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from the EE Cummings poem "My Naked Lady Framed". I am on [tumblr](http://www.sansapotter.tumblr.com).


End file.
